36: Repetitions. There they go. Altho one, 
you’re mine. Yet you get somewhere then stop.  So far you’re not alone.  
I may not acknowledge you my love’s delight — you’re not solely mine. It’s a shame tho we honor our inner living love that divides us in stolen light. I confess that — or let me confess both our loves are shamed into love’s altered effect —  
 
Your love, mine — separable remains from the nervous system that distorts public love into two, radially.